


Sleepless Nights

by out_there



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 00:17:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14343978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/out_there/pseuds/out_there
Summary: Downstairs, Greg finds Mycroft where he last saw him: sitting in the study, staring into the embers of a fire, palms steepled in front of him.





	Sleepless Nights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [egmon73](https://archiveofourown.org/users/egmon73/gifts).



> A little birthday ficlet for egmon73. Unbetaed, so all errors are mine.

Greg knows his sleeping patterns are the first casualty of his job. When there's a particularly grisly murder and a mourning family relying on him to be convincing in court, those are the nights he ends up staring at case files until midnight or later. Last night, he didn't crawl into bed until 2am and here he is, up again before 7am. He feels like death warmed over, but after a coffee or three, he'll be awake enough to get through court this afternoon.

He drags himself out of bed and scowls at the other side. Empty. Pillows sitting in a neat, precise stack. Wrinkle-free sheets and neatly folded covers.

Downstairs, Greg finds Mycroft where he last saw him: sitting in the study, staring into the embers of a fire, palms steepled in front of him.

They've been living together for months now. Long enough for Greg to know that Mycroft will sit there thinking until his alarm calls. That he'll have a cold shower to wake himself up (barbaric, if you ask Greg. What's the point of hot water if you don't use it?) and then get dressed for the day. That he'll manage everything the day throws at him and keep worrying about whatever's had him up all night, keep thinking it through until he finds an acceptable solution.

"I'm making coffee," Greg says gently and Mycroft blinks a few times, before unfreezing enough to turn his head. This is where the Ice Man epithet comes from, the tendency to freeze out all distractions until the outside world is only a distant annoyance. It worries Greg. He wishes it didn't, but it does. "Do you want one?"

"Yes," Mycroft says, voice a little rough and thoughts still miles away. "Please."

Greg busies himself in the kitchen. He stares into their fridge -- less empty than Mycroft used to keep it, thank heavens -- and considers making scrambled eggs. Or toast. Toast seems easier. 

He brings coffee and a plate of toast into the study. Mycroft's still sitting by the fireplace but he looks a little more aware now, hands loose on the armrest. He looks Greg up and down, a wry smile for the toast with marmalade. "You know the case," he says. "You're a very persuasive witness in court."

"Thanks," Greg says, handing over a plate. Mycroft eyes it -- no doubt considering the calorie intake and vitamin levels of marmalade -- but he takes it from Greg's hand. "And what about you? What's kept you up?"

"Nothing worth sharing," Mycroft says, which really means it's far too classified for a Met DCI to know.

Greg fetches his own coffee and marmite toast from the kitchen, thinking that conversation is a good summary of their professional lives. Mycroft knows every case on Greg's desk because even his background interest tends to be active and exhaustive. Greg has no idea of the details of Mycroft's work; he only sees its impact reflected in sleepless nights or smug satisfaction.

Returning to the study, he settles into the other armchair and eats his breakfast. "Did you figure it out?"

"There are a few options." Which means Mycroft has contingencies in place but feels there should be a better answer. Greg has no idea what 'better' means in this case -- fewer lives lost, reduced impact on the economy, future consequences averted -- but it's enough to know Mycroft isn't satisfied. "The decision needs to be made tonight so it will be finalised one way or the other."

There are things Greg wants to say. To tell Mycroft that just because he orchestrates the decisions doesn't make him responsible for solving every problem. To say Britain survived before him and will survive after him, so don't carry the weight of it alone. That sometimes you have to accept the compromise, the less than perfect answer, and move on to the next thing.

But now isn't the time. Mycroft's working to a deadline, still trying to rearrange various pieces until they fit seamlessly. Those are things to be said quietly with Mycroft in his arms. Mycroft will hear it more clearly on a quiet night in or a lazy Sunday morning.

Besides, Greg's said it before, so Mycroft already knows it. As much as Greg knows that Mycroft is the only one capable of doing what he does, that the responsibility falls on Mycroft because more often than not, he can find the solution that benefits everyone.

But right now, while the rest of the world is waking up and their toast is going cold, they can sit together and drown their yawns in coffee. They'll work too hard and sleep too little, and have a quiet weekend to catch up. And that's when Greg will tell Mycroft that he's amazing, even if he can't find a perfect solution every time. That's when Greg will hold Mycroft close and remind him there's more in his life than work.


End file.
